


The Romance of Merlin

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Finale, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His desktop background, which his students have seen repeatedly, is of a rather perplexed handsome blonde man whose name thus far Merlin has refused to disclose. The ones who ask, the ones who regularly attend his lecture, would never let it go – their professor of Arthurian Romances, presumably dating a man called Arthur? It’s too good to be true. </p>
<p>Granted, if they knew that their professor of Arthurian Romances was the real Merlin, and his “boyfriend” named Arthur was the actual Once and Future King, still relatively fresh from the depths of Avalon, they’d have a much more drastic reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Romance of Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! (even though it's after midnight, whoops) 
> 
> (also quick and unbeta'd; apologies for any typos/grammatical failures)

There aren’t many people in the lecture hall, Merlin notes. It ought to be full with about two hundred students, but today there are about twenty present. They’re all wet from the snow and tired because it’s 9:30 in the morning, and they’re all eager to leave. It’s a Friday, and it’s a commercial holiday to boot. It’s not one of Merlin’s favorites, but he enjoys seeing other people happy.

Merlin opens up his laptop and connects it to the overhead projector; he smiles to himself as he pulls up the PowerPoint on the historical King Arthur. His desktop background, which his students have seen repeatedly, is of a rather perplexed handsome blonde man whose name thus far Merlin has refused to disclose. The ones who ask, the ones who regularly attend his lecture, would never let it go – their professor of Arthurian Romances, presumably dating a man called Arthur? It’s too good to be true.

Granted, if they knew that their professor of Arthurian Romances was the _real_ Merlin, and his “boyfriend” named Arthur was the actual Once and Future King, still relatively fresh from the depths of Avalon, they’d have a much more drastic reaction.

Arthur was still asleep when Merlin left his flat this morning. It was a bad night devoid of sleep on his part after hours of trying to get Arthur out of his latest slump. It’s not been easy, the transition to modernity. Arthur’s finally wearing jeans and t-shirts, but he doesn’t let Excalibur out of his sight. Merlin would never tell Arthur how much it unsettles him to see the sword always at his waist, looped through a flimsy brown belt. Arthur claims it’s too cold to leave the flat, but Merlin knows it’s more than that. The way he clings to the sword, the distant look that takes over Arthur’s face at unpredictable moments – there’s something wrong that Merlin can’t seem to touch or mend. Even after everything that’s happened, there’s _still_ something Merlin can’t do for Arthur. He can’t even convince him to go around the corner to get a cup of coffee from Costa.

He can feel the weight of the centuries, the weight of the last month and a half, sit heavily on Merlin’s shoulders. He pulls the glasses off his face and rubs his eyes.

“Professor?” someone near the front of the lecture hall asks. Merlin looks ups. It’s clear the guy – Jonathan? – has had his hand raised for a while now.

“Yes?”

“Is there any chance we can finish the lecture early?”

“I know you’re eager to get out of here, guys, but—”

“The weather’s getting worse.”

“They probably should have cancelled classes today,” Merlin said. The small crowd titters in agreement. “Look, I’ll do my best. Since so few of you are here, we’ll just go over the first set of slides and do the rest on Monday.”

He’s met with tentatively grateful smiles. Merlin clears his throat and sets the PowerPoint into Presenter mode.

“Got plans with your boyfriend later, professor?” asks a girl in the front row. Merlin chuckles, though it sounds humorless to him. The girl is the spitting image of Morgana when Merlin first met her, and she’s just as challenging. She asks all the questions that get the rest of the lecture hall going.

“Maybe,” he says with a small smile. “We might stay in, do something quiet.”

“Make dinner for him.”

“I do that most nights. He doesn’t know his way around the kitchen to save his life,” Merlin says. The class laughs.

Arthur _had_ asked about the holiday, which Merlin explained in rather short terms as a farce of a day in which all the candy and greeting card companies make most of their money for the year. Arthur frowned and mentioned that he’d read differently online. Merlin was surprised to hear that, since Arthur generally avoids technology. He’s slowly getting used to the television, but Merlin’s laptop is still a dangerous contraption to Arthur.

When Arthur pressed the matter, insisting it’s something more than a farce and moreover a celebration of love and hope for happiness, Merlin told him to let it drop and left to buy groceries. It was the first time Merlin didn’t ask Arthur to accompany him, and he didn’t even realize it until he came home.

His behavior had nothing to do with the very odd kiss they’d exchanged about a month after Arthur returned. Nope. Not at all.

The memory makes Merlin’s stomach churn furiously, and not in a good way. They’d been arguing about something regarding the past, and somehow Merlin ended up pressed against the wall kissing Arthur with every muscle in his body, and Arthur – well, Arthur was as much of a prat as ever, he ascertained. Merlin may have panicked slightly and left the flat for the night, too, but Merlin tries not to remember that part. Sure, they moved past that whole night, but without ever really discussing what the hell had happened, leaving Merlin bitterly annoyed.

Merlin begins the lecture.

“Now, when we discussed Beroul’s Romance of Tristan last class, we saw that the text mentions King Arthur. Beroul’s version of the story was written before Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain, so what can we assume?”

“There were stories about Arthur floating around before either book was written,” the girl in the front row states. Merlin makes a note to learn her name.

“Right. So, let’s get a little background on Monmouth and the tradition of historical writing at the time….”

The Geoffrey of Monmouth Merlin knew could easily have written all these mad stories about Arthur fighting the Romans and planning to take on Rome itself; the man had ages to himself in that dusty library. Merlin’s a little grateful for it, in the end. A giant living in Mont Saint-Michel is somehow a lot easier to explain than Uther Pendragon falling in love with and marrying a troll.

He hears the doors open at the top of the lecture hall. Merlin’s used to latecomers in his lectures, especially on days with bad weather. It’s surprising _he_ made it to the lecture hall on-time, really. Merlin keeps talking about the state of Saxon and Roman interactions during late antiquity until the latecomer, still bounding down the steps with no intention of stopping to sit, comes into the light.

Merlin stops.

Arthur stands on the bottom step holding a slightly bent bouquet of flowers, dripping from head to toe, his jeans soaked up to his knees, his golden hair plastered to his forehead. Merlin can see the ice in his hair starting to melt and drip down Arthur’s nose.

“Er.”

Every student is staring as he steps out from behind the podium. Merlin glances at them and knows at least a few of them know exactly who the latecomer is.

Arthur straightens up, as though he’s addressing the court of Camelot rather than Merlin and a few sleepy twentysomethings.

“You’re interrupting my lecture,” Merlin says before he can stop himself.

“I know,” Arthur says, walking to the podium, his previously unused trainers squelching obnoxiously. He leaves a trail of water behind him as he walks.

“Couldn’t this have waited until I got home? You know this is my only class today,” Merlin says, dropping his voice.

“I needed to give you these,” Arthur says, thrusting the flowers into Merlin’s arms. His face, bitten pink by the cold, turns even redder. “And. Well, I – I wanted to show you that I care, and I know everything you’re doing for me. I’m grateful for it.”

“Yes, but—”

“The internet said this would be a good idea,” Arthur mutters. “Fine. I’m sorry for the way I behaved last time but I’m trying to show you that I mean it. I mean _this_.”

“What the fu—”

Arthur grabs Merlin’s face and kisses him fiercely. Merlin tries to pull away, but Arthur doesn’t let him. He holds him there and kisses him until Merlin kisses back, until Merlin gives in and lets himself enjoy whatever _this_ is, even if only for a few seconds.

Arthur releases him. Merlin steps back, holding the flowers tightly to his chest. The room is perfectly silent.

“You left the flat,” Merlin realizes.

“Yeah,” Arthur says gruffly. “So?”

“I’m confused. Why now?”

“Yes, well, perhaps I just didn’t see the incentive at hand,” Arthur says. Merlin gives him as challenging a look as he can muster. He glances shiftily at the students watching them. “I, uh. I decided this was important – you, actually.”

He’s bright red. Merlin bites back a laugh. He’s been yelling at Arthur to try direct communication for once in his life, and _now_ he decides to do it? It’s almost too good.  

Someone in the hall _aww_ s loudly. Merlin sees the girl in the front row clap a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry,” she says through her fingers.

“Erm. Right. Class dismissed?”

They laugh and everyone leaves as quickly as possible. Jonathan casts a glance back at them. Arthur stares him down and he sprints from the hall.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Merlin says once the last door slams shut and echoes in the large empty room.

“I didn’t like the look on his face,” Arthur says, crossing his arms. He shivers.

“Christ, you’re freezing,” Merlin says, taking Arthur’s hands and rubbing them between his own. “Can I—?”

Arthur nods, teeth chattering. Merlin casts the spell. Arthur’s eyes widen slightly when his eyes flash gold; he sighs in relief when he’s dry and warm. Arthur’s hands start to slide from Merlin’s grip but Merlin holds on more tightly.

“Are you sure about this?” Merlin asks softly, even though there’s no one around to hear them, no need to keep anything a secret anymore.

“I am.”

“I don’t think you know what it would do to me if you weren’t,” Merlin says, shutting his eyes. “I was alone for so long, Arthur, just waiting for you. I… I don’t know if I wanted this back in Camelot, but maybe I would have properly, if I wasn’t so busy keeping you out of danger.”

“I did, you know,” Arthur says. Merlin opens his eyes. “I hated you when we first met, but there was something about you. I couldn’t put my finger on it until after I started to fall in love with Guinevere. It was the same feeling, only… it was a different with you.”

“Oh.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“What do you want me to say? I barely even liked you back then!”

“I can’t believe this,” Arthur says, shaking his head.

“I just… I can’t do this unless you’re sure. I can’t, unless you’re willing to work with me and not just let everything I try to do for you bounce off you,” Merlin says, sighing, feeling frustrated all over again.

“The whole point of the grand gesture was to show that _yes_ , I do,” Arthur says. He’s starting to look a little manic, a little desperate. Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Arthur exhales slowly.

“We should go home,” he says quietly. “You’re probably tired.”

Arthur nods, looking utterly relieved.

“I… know this is going to take a lot of time to fix,” Arthur says as they climb the stairs to the doors of the lecture hall. “Me. This problem I came back with.”

“I know,” Merlin says with a half-smile. “I have several medical degrees and two degrees in Psychology. It’ll take time, but we can do this, if you let me help.”

“I know… I know. I will. I swear I will.”

“And… _this_? Is this part of getting better?”

Arthur looks at him. Merlin produces a spare hat from within his bag and pulls it over Arthur’s head. Arthur grins, clearly unable to stop himself as Merlin tucks a stray piece of hair under the hat.

“This is different,” Arthur replies simply. He takes Merlin’s hand in his and opens the door. “It always was, always will be.”

Merlin ducks his head, hiding the blinding grin he just can’t hold back. Arthur bumps against his shoulder.

“Did you like the flowers I picked?” he asks.

Merlin looks properly at the bouquet.

“Red roses,” he says, still smiling. “Pendragon red, even.”

“The Internet said red means love,” Arthur says with a tiny pout. Merlin stifles a tiny laugh. The wind gusts against them and the slide a little on the slick snow.

“Does it, now?” Merlin says, feeling heat rise in his face. His heart rate picks up, almost inexplicably. Almost.

“You already knew that,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes. He skids on ice and grips Merlin’s hand more tightly. Merlin steadies him gently.

“Yeah, well.”

They walk in silence until the sound of the key scraping in the lock startles them out of their stupor. They step into Merlin’s warm flat. Merlin takes his time divesting his jacket, scarf, boots, gloves – but Arthur waits, already barefoot and standing by the heater.

“Merlin?” Arthur finally asks. Merlin’s standing with his back to Arthur, so he turns, toying with the plastic wrappings on the bouquet.

“I think… we might get on, now that you’re just Arthur.”

“I was only ever _just Arthur_ with you,” Arthur says softly, approaching him. Merlin lets him come close. “That’s all I was with you by the end.”

“I wasn’t Merlin, though.”

“No. But now…?”

It’s the look on Arthur’s face. He looks young. He looks like a prince again, not like a man recovering from the terrifying experience of coming back to life in an alien world. In that moment, Merlin remembers what things were like so long ago – he remembers who _he_ was, the boy with a destiny, the servant with a royal prat for a master, a man who worked for ten long, wonderful years because he dared hope for a better future with _just Arthur_ , his friend, his king, the _real_ King Arthur, not the man of the legends or Merlin’s memory twisted by years of solitude. 

Suddenly, Merlin realized he could still be that man. He was always at his best with Arthur.

“Yes, Arthur. _Yes_.”

Merlin kisses him, finally dropping the flowers from his hands in favor of taking Arthur by the shoulders and pulling him as close to him as possible. His glasses skew and Arthur tears them off his face before crushing their lips together. There’s a trace of sadness in this kiss, a tremor that they both feel and can’t erase, but there’s a smile that lingers when they part. There’s hope they cannot ignore, and that’s better than anything Merlin’s ever felt, on Valentine’s Day or any other day in the fifteen hundred years.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this was inspired by a thing that actually happened in one of my lectures in which a guy burst in halfway through the class and started calling out for his girlfriend. He had a lovely bouquet and everything, and yes there was a big snowstorm outside so I'll give him props for braving that. The girl didn't come forward though/wasn't there, so he got all sad and deflated and left. A girl did run out of the lecture a few minutes later, though, so....


End file.
